


Never Fade Away

by parentaladvisorybullshitcontent



Series: Astronaut AU [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Astronaut AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7273192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parentaladvisorybullshitcontent/pseuds/parentaladvisorybullshitcontent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come on, just because he’s in space doesn’t make him cooler than you. I mean, technically we’re all in space. He’s just…in a different bit of space.”</p><p>“It’s nothing to do with anything like that. I just –“ Dan pauses, trying to think of a way to phrase it. “It’s stupid to even think of him like that when I’ve never even met him, you know? Like – I have no idea who he is.”</p><p>In which Phil's an astronaut alone on Mars and Dan's a lowly tech down at Ground Control who can't get him out of his head</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Phan in space! For the lovely Eni (who draws beautiful things and you should totally check out her art blog, Eniworm on tumblr) <3 
> 
> Apologies in advance because this is so far from perfect - but if I waited around for that I'd be posting this in 2050, so better now than never
> 
> I know nothing about space, but I watch a lot of Doctor Who. Anyone who actually knows things about space/robots/technology, forgive me. This was actually inspired by that Brits video from months ago where D&P climbed the O2 (yeah, I don't know either)
> 
> Title from Starlight by Muse, because I'm a living phan cliché

“Offworld Station 35 Gamma to Ground Control. Airlock Z12’s still sticking. If someone could patch through a debugger, that’d be great.”

Dan’s already on it, opening another window and sending the right program. Almost as soon as he’s done, another message from the Offworld Station flashes up on the computer.

“Offworld Station…ah, whatever, you know it’s still me. Thanks.”

He sounds so casual, so offhand. Normally in the official messages he sounds so clipped and serious, like he’s reading from a script.

Heart beating stupidly fast, Dan checks behind him to make sure he really is alone, and then saves the message to his tablet.

-

It’s not an obsession.

“It really is,” PJ says, unhelpfully. “You know nobody else watches his mission logs, right?”

Dan feels himself flushing as he says, “Someone has to. Sorry if I’m the only one following the protocol-“

“Ok, ok, yeah, watching the logs is protocol, but, like,” PJ’s toying with the broccoli on his plate. “Saving them to watch again?”

“To check for encryption,” Dan says, weakly, finally giving voice to the excuse he practiced in the mirror all those weeks ago. _Commander, I only saved those classified mission logs for safety reasons, I promise. Absolutely not because of cute astronauts_. PJ looks up from his plate and smiles at him, as though he can read his mind. “Shut up, there could be encryption.”

“Sure,” PJ says. “In case of all those eavesdropping martians.”

Dan scowls when PJ laughs.

“Sorry,” He says. “I just – if you like him, why don’t you hang around when we’re, you know, actually talking to him?”

Dan’s already shaking his head before PJ’s even finished talking.

“No. No way.”

“Why?” PJ sounds genuinely curious. “Come on, just because he’s in space doesn’t make him cooler than you. I mean, technically we’re all in space. He’s just…in a different bit of space.”

“It’s not,” Dan says, staring hard at PJ’s abandoned broccoli. “It’s nothing to do with anything like that. I just –“ He pauses, trying to think of a way to phrase it. “It’s stupid to even think of him like _that_ when I’ve never even met him, you know? Like – I have no idea who he is.”

PJ gives him this oddly searching look and says, “If you stuck around to talk to him maybe you’d find out.”

Dan doesn’t really have a concrete argument for that.

-

“Mission Log. We’re on day…205? Sorry if that’s wrong, I think my calendar chip is corrupted. I might’ve, er, spilt something on it.” Phil pulls a face at the camera. “Yeah, I know, fourth one this month. Good job I have spares, right?” He sighs and stretches, looking at something out of shot.

Dan’s never seen the inside of the Mars habitation pod but he assumes it’s exactly like the ones they use for training exercises for new employees. Even Dan had been thrown into one of those things and tossed about for a bit, and all he signed up for was some fast typing and a job that mostly involved sitting down on the computer all day.

Onscreen, Phil’s pulling off his protective gloves and flexing his fingers. Dan’s heard from other people how much those things hurt your hands. NASA developed slimline ones that’re way more comfortable, PJ says, but it’s not like their program has the money to buy stuff like that.

Dan watches Phil wince as he wiggles his thumbs around and wishes they did.

“I, uh. I was thinking about birds today? Like. I miss birds. I feel like I never really noticed them and now it’s like – well, there aren’t any, and I wish I could just…look at some.” Phil laughs, a little awkwardly. “Or maybe just hear them? I feel like I’m forgetting what they sound like.”

Dan’s already opening another window, typing furiously. It takes him less than twenty seconds to download some soundbytes of birdsong. While he’s waiting for them to upload, Phil’s still talking.

“That’s it, I think. Nothing else to report. I kind of – I kind of don’t feel like talking today?” A shrug. “I’m fine, I ran a physical diagnostic earlier, I just. I’m homesick, I guess.” Phil smiles. It looks kind of forced. “Anyway. I’d better go and get another chip. Over and out.”

Impulsively, feeling like his heart might beat right out of his chest with fear, Dan writes, _some birdsong for you. everything’s going to be fine. not long til you’re home :)_ , and hits send before he can change his mind.

-

When he gets home that evening, instead of closing all the blinds and watching TV, he ends up sitting by the window with a cup of hot chocolate. It’s a nice evening – not warm, but not cold either. There’s a huge tree right outside the window that must belong to the people who live below him, and it’s only when Dan’s sitting there that he realises the branches aren’t so bare anymore like they’ve been all winter. There are green shoots there – the promise of leaves, maybe.

Dan drags a spare blanket off his bed and drinks and listens to the watery warbling of the nesting birds.

-

The Mars team are running a live diagnostic with Phil when Dan arrives at work the next morning. Live diagnostics mean the observation room is swarming with techs who are normally hiding out elsewhere in the facility. PJ orchestrates the whole thing – he has a higher tech rank than the rest of them, which means it’s him that gets to wear the headset and talk back to Phil, although Dan knows that any of the other techs can cut in whenever they want.

Live diagnostics also mean that the giant observation screen is in use. Dan wonders if Phil knows that he’s appearing on a cinema screen when he calls them like that. Dan wonders what the observation room looks like from his perspective.

Dan wonders if he knows that it’s empty most of the time.

Not that Dan’ll ever find out what Phil thinks or knows, because his refusal to participate in live diagnostics coupled with his crippling embarrassment from the stupid birdsong incident of yesterday means that Dan heads straight down to the archive when he arrives, and doesn’t emerge until lunchtime, his sleeves covered in dust.

PJ doesn’t bat an eyelid when Dan sits down opposite him at their usual table.

Dan kind of wishes someone’d told him that working for a space program would be eerily like high school – cafeteria tables, gross food, attractive people you’re too pathetic and cowardly to talk to. If he’d known it was gonna be like this he probably would’ve gone for a regular office job instead.

“You missed the diagnostic,” PJ says.

Dan shrugs.

“You know they all only show up so they can seem all hardworking and shit, right?” He says. “It’s gonna be us doing the real work later while they’re off…playing Tetris, or whatever.”

PJ nods.

“Yeah, they’re all dicks,” He says, mildly. He pauses. “So, Phil asked about you.”

Dan doesn’t choke on a mouthful of apple juice, but it’s a near thing.

“He – what?”

“Not by name, or anything,” PJ says, smiling knowingly at him. “But, er, he wanted to thank the tech who sent him some soundbytes after his mission log last night? I knew it must’ve been you since nobody else watches that stuff. It _was_ you, right?”

“I, yeah,” Dan says, feeling dazed.

“I had to tell him you weren’t gonna be in until the afternoon shift.”

“Oh my _God_."

“What did you send?” PJ asks, curiously. “I mean, I should probably, like, say something about it being a waste of resources but he seemed really…perked up.”

Dan touches a hand to his face, absently. It’s hot under his fingers.

“He, um. He said he wanted to hear some birdsong, so I. I sent him some. That’s it.”

PJ grins at him.

“See?” He says. “You’re braver than you thought.”

-

“Mission Log. It’s day 206!” Phil smiles. “I got a new calendar chip. Promise I’ll keep this one safe.” He pauses. “So, I, uh. I might’ve listened to those soundbytes about a hundred times last night. And this morning. Turns out they even make the shitty coffee taste better, who knew? It was, like, added ambience, or something. So thank you. And, um, thanks for your message? I, uh. If you’re watching this and you have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sorry. I, um. I received a nice message off Tech, er, 326? So, um. If you're not Tech326, sorry. And if you are – thank you.” Phil smiles at the camera, and this time it’s a smile for Dan – not vague, not non-specific or thoughtful, Phil’s smiling for _him_.

Dan saves the video to his tablet before it’s even halfway over.

-

Dan doesn't communicate with Phil for a few days after that.

He gets recruited to help organise the archives, of all things. Dan's pretty sure this is his punishment for being too much of a coward to attend the live diagnostics and hiding out in there amongst the old files all the time.

He ends up shuffling between bookshelves and filing cabinets, pushing this stupid trolley with an annoyingly squeaky wheel and returning misplaced files and documents to their correct locations. It's fiddly, complicated work that involves a lot of referring back to a long list of different categories and trying not to sneeze when the dust from particularly old papers flies into the air in little clouds.

At lunchtimes, he finds himself blinking blearily in the bright whiteness of the cafeteria, the stark strobe lighting and white everything hurting his eyes a little after the yellow-lit strangeness of the archives.

He stays late to watch Phil's mission logs. Someone has to, he reasons, when he swipes his card to enter the observation room. Dan's pretty sure if he was stranded out in space it'd be a comfort to him to know that _someone_ was listening to him, somewhere. That someone cared.

Phil probably has family who care, Dan thinks. He probably has a girlfriend who cares. Not that he's ever mentioned one in his mission logs, but updates on the Mars rover and the development of ice crystals is hardly a good time to add, “Oh and I missed my girlfriend today. She's really pretty.”

Just because he hasn't _mentioned_ a girlfriend doesn't mean he hasn't got one. Dan tries to keep that in mind when he finds his eyes lingering on Phil's hands and the way he gestures when he talks. The lighting in the habitation pod washes him out entirely, but Dan's willing to bet he's just as pale in person.

But he almost definitely has a girlfriend, Dan thinks, as he waits in line to catch the hydro-shuttle home from work. Aside from everything else – his smile and his hands and the way he laughs at his own jokes, sometimes – he's in _space_.

Smiling wryly to himself as the shuttle glides in to the station, Dan thinks that fancying an astronaut probably brings a whole new meaning to the idea of someone being _out of his league_.

-

On Friday evening when Dan slips into the control room, it's to find it empty. Dan's later than he usually is, so the night shift techs should really have already arrived by now. Of course, considering how lazy the day shift techs are, it's no surprise that their night counterparts are just as absent.

He automatically makes his way to his own workstation and finds a post-it stuck to his monitor ( _come back! We miss you!_ And a funny little doodle of a sad PJ). Grinning, he boots up his computer, drumming his fingers on the desk a little, looking out across the empty desks and chairs.

It's only when his desktop loads that he realises he has four messages from Phil's offworld station, flagged as orange. Dan's heart lurches unpleasantly – the messages are on a traffic light system, so orange means not bad but not great either. Dan clicks them open quickly, pulling his headset on.

“Offworld Station 35 Gamma to Ground Control. Er – it's probably nothing, but, um. I heard some weird noises just off quadrant C just now. Sort of...crunching noises. Like someone eating cereal in the walls. Just thought I'd let you know.”

Heart in his mouth, Dan hurries to patch through a diagnostic, typing furiously, even while the second message automatically plays in another window.

“Offworld Station 35 Gamma again – sorry, I mean, it's probably nothing, but the crunching sound happened again? I think – I'm trying to recall the rover, I programmed it to collect some samples earlier and then it never came back. Maybe it's malfunctioning? Is there anything you can do down your end?”

Phil doesn't even bother with the usual protocol in his third message.

“Ok, so I think the rover's malfunctioning,” He says, sounding more than a little frantic. Dan's already trying to access the rover's commands via satellite. “I – I dunno what to do, it sounds like it's digging into the side of quadrant C – it's kind of -” There's a thumping noise, loud enough to make Dan's heart twist with worry. “Yeah, er, not so much of a crunching noise anymore. I'm worried about it compromising the airlock, if someone could get back to me that'd be great. I'm sort of freaking out. I've tried messing around with the command program from here but it's not working, I think any override has to come from Ground Control.”

The datestamp on the last message is three minutes ago. Without even thinking about it, Dan clicks into another window, his heart thudding painfully, and starts a video call.

“Ground Control to Offworld Station 35 Gamma,” He says, surreptitiously wiping his damp palms on his trousers, mind rushing forwards at a million miles a minute, assaulting him with horrible images of Phil being sucked out of the airlock. Those sorts of videos – gruesome space accidents – used to get sent around the office a lot, before one of the Professors had found out and banned unprofessional use of mission footage. Dan had always tried to avoid watching the videos, but a sickening image comes to him – _strawberry jam in zero gravity_ , that's what PJ had called it. “Pick up pick up, _please_ pick up. Ground Control to Offworld Station 35-”

“Hi, hi, hello,” Phil's face fills his screen, suddenly. His hair's sticking up weirdly, and it's enough to make Dan automatically reach up to flatten his down because _Phil can see him_.

“Oh God, you're ok,” He breathes, stupidly, without meaning to.

“Yeah,” Phil says. There's another loud thud in the background. “I mean, except for that.”

“Except for that,” Dan agrees, feeling his face flush. He swallows and tries to remember his training. “Erm, I'm gonna need you to, like, take deep breaths and stuff. Er. You're gonna be fine. I just – I think the rover's malfunctioning, like you said, so I'm just gonna – I'll fix that.”

He makes the chat window a little smaller and returns to the rover tab, trying to access the coding.

“I'm glad someone picked up,” Phil says. Dan's trying to avoid looking at him, but it's difficult. His mouth's unpleasantly dry all of a sudden, like his tongue's made of sandpaper. “I thought I was gonna turn into one of those horror stories, you know?”

“Strawberry jam,” Dan says, unthinkingly. There's an awkward moment of silence when he stares at the black-and-white command program of the rover, desperately wanting the floor to swallow him whole. “Not that – not that you're gonna – because – I'm fixing it, I'm-”

Phil laughs.

“Strawberry jam,” He says. When Dan looks over at him, he's grinning. “Is that what you guys call it?”

“That's what, um,” Dan doesn't have clearance to access the rover's command program. _This is why the night techs should be here_ , he thinks, angrily, and then he wouldn't even have to make a fool of himself like this. “Sort of. Do you know the rover's command password?”

“Oh,” Phil says. There's a creaking noise as he leans around the camera, and another thud from the rover outside the base. “Oh, yeah, I changed it 'cause I kept forgetting. Sorry. Gimme a sec.” When he reappears, he's holding what looks like a post-it note. “It's Phoebe.”

“Ok,” Dan says, ignoring the way his heart sinks a little at that. “I always forget, is it _oe_?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, peering at the piece of paper in his hand. “Oh God, I've definitely spelt it wrong here.”

“What are they teaching you in astronaut school these days,” Dan says, studiously avoiding looking at Phil as he types in the password in another window. _Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend_ , he thinks, as his computer bleeps and the command program opens.

“Not spelling, apparently,” Phil says. Dan doesn't even need to look to know that he's smiling again. “Are you in?”

“Yep,” Dan says, frowning at the wall of text that is the rover's most recent activity. Dan's never been all that good with robots. He'd passed the initial tests they'd given him when he'd started working here, but that was by virtue of frantic Google searches the night before and sheer dumb luck.

“That's – that's not a good face,” Phil says. Dan blinks and actually looks at him on the screen, washed out and distant and half-smiling. “I mean – I mean, it's a great – your face is great, but like – that – you look worried.”

Dan splutters, feeling suddenly very warm. When he laughs it sounds sort of hysterical, high-pitched and ridiculous.

“Er,” He says.

“Sorry,” Phil says. There's another thud from down his end. “Stressful situations kind of make me say stupid things.”

“No, no,” Dan says, quickly. That makes a lot of sense. Politeness, that's a thing. And there's always the mysterious Phoebe. Dan bets she's blonde. “Er, I just – I'm not the best at, like, robots.”

“Oh,” Phil says. “Isn't there anyone back there who is?”

Dan pauses, awkwardly, not sure how to tell him that the night shift techs just haven't shown up.

Maybe his expression says it all, because Phil says, “You're the only one there, aren't you?”

“Usually,” Dan says, apologetically. “Sorry.”

“That's ok,” Phil says. The fact that he's being so patient and friendly makes everything worse – Dan almost wishes he was being rude, that'd make everything so much easier. “I mean – we've got time. Like – when the air lock's compromised the alarms should go off, and they haven't yet.”

“Maybe you should, like,” Dan tries to subtly swipe at his forehead, which is unpleasantly damp with sweat under his fringe. “Suit up? Just in case?”

“In case of strawberry jam,” Phil says. He grins as he says it, and Dan can't believe that someone can discuss their own mortality so casually. Especially the idea of turning into jelly in an air vacuum, which sounds like the worst possible way to go. “I, er. I know some robot stuff, if that helps.”

Dan's eyes scan the lines and lines of white text so fast that they sort of blur around the edges.

“It should be ok,” He says. “I – It looks like the collision sensor's got a bug, that's all. It probably thinks it's activating a door mechanism.”

“And instead it's damaging the outer wall,” Phil says. “That's like – my parents got this droid operated washing system a while back and it put a green sock in with the whites because its colour sensor chip malfunctioned.”

“Only with a much higher chance of -”

“Strawberry jam,” Phil says, laughing a little. The sound makes Dan feel so light, makes his heart thud in a completely different way to the undercurrent of panic that's making his hands tremble a little. “I just mean – they invent all this stuff and it's all still, like, _fallible_ , you know? It's like some new version of human error, but with robots.”

“Robot error,” Dan says absently, typing furiously. “Ok, I'm just patching through a debugger. It looks like some of the recent commands got corrupted too. Won't be a minute.”

“That's ok,” Phil says. “It's nice to have company, actually. Like. Evenings get kind of long, you know? There's only so long you can drag out a mission log before it starts to look kind of sad.”

Dan falters in his typing at that.

“Why don't you call, then?” He says, automatically. Then, flushing, he adds, “I mean, there's always _someone_ here.”

“Or there should be,” Phil says. “Are you really the only one there right now?”

Dan finishes typing and minimises the command window so that Phil's fullscreen again.

“Er, yeah,” He says, awkwardly. With the imminent fear of death by air vacuum receding, Dan's starting to feel more than a little self-conscious. “I mean. They probably just got held up, that's all.”

“Probably,” Phil repeats. “I'm just – I'm lucky you were there, I guess.”

Dan swallows and says, “I just. Um. I was gonna check out the mission logs before I went home. I mean, it's protocol.”

Phil's smile at that hits Dan so hard he feels like he should have cartoon birds fluttering around his head.

“I didn't think anyone watched those,” He says. “Like – I know it's protocol, but I mean, how interesting is it to just watch someone rambling on for five minutes every day?”

“It is,” Dan says. “Interesting, I mean.” There's an awkward pause. Dan coughs and adds, “No crashes down your end anymore?”

“Er, none so far,” Phil says. “I'll just – I'll check and see if I can control the rover again.”

Dan tries and fails to watch him typing, a little frown of concentration on his face. He flexes his fingers a little every so often, wincing.

“Those gloves are shit, aren't they,” He says, impulsively. When Phil stops typing and looks right into the camera, Dan's stomach flips.

“God, yeah,” Phil says. “I know we can't afford the good ones. That's fine, though, like – I mean, it's enough of a privilege to be out here, you know? I don't need, like, the fancy gloves.”

“Your hands must hurt, though,” Dan says, because apparently he's unable to just _stop talking_.

“Yep,” Phil says. He isn't looking at the camera anymore, so Dan feels safe to watch him and the way his eyes sweep across the screen in front of him. “They get really flaky and sort of, like, chafed? Is that the word? Oh – hey, I can control the rover again!”

“Great,” Dan says. “I'll run a diagnostic on the integrity of the outer shell. Like, I don't know about you but I wouldn't get any sleep if I thought the air lock might fail any minute.”

“You sort of get used to it,” Phil says. “But thanks. I'll just – send the rover to the nearest storage pod.”

Thankfully, the diagnostic tells him that the outer shell's barely been compromised by the rover's activities. When he accesses the outer cameras just to make sure, he can only see a few scratches on the already-scratched outer wall of the base.

“That's the extent of the damage,” He says, sending some screenshots to Phil.

Phil doesn't answer for a moment, busy typing, but when he does he grins.

“Brilliant,” He says. “Jesus, the noise it was making, I thought it was like – I thought I was done for.”

“But you only sent an orange flagged message,” Dan points out. “I mean – definitely red flag it next time.”

“It'll be ok,” Phil says. “As long as you stick around to help me.”

Dan's throat feels weird and his face prickles, hotly, when he says, “Oh, I'm always here.” He pauses, realising how sad that sounds. “I mean, not always. But. During the day, definitely.”

“It's not daytime now,” Phil points out.

“It's fine, it's-”

“It's past ten, isn't it?”

“Just,” Dan says. The last thing he wants is for Phil to realise that he shouldn't even be here at all - that he spends time when he's officially off the clock creepily catching up with mission logs. “It's – it's fine, I'll. I'll just go and rustle up some night staff before I go, that's all.”

“Ok,” Phil says. He stretches, making a funny little appreciative noise that makes Dan's face feel hot again. “I might just – mission log and then bed. I was gonna do it earlier but then – the whole rover thing happened.”

“That's ok,” Dan says. “I'll watch it in the morning. Because – because it's protocol.”

“Yeah,” Phil says. There's something soft about his smile that makes Dan feel pleasantly warm inside. “Oh, um – sorry, this is sort of weird. Uh. You're Tech326, right?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, because it's not like he can deny it. His user ID's probably right there at the top of Phil's screen, the same way Phil's is at the top of Dan's.

“So it's you who sent the birdsong the other day,” Phil says, and Dan kind of wants to die. “That's – thanks so much for that. I wanted to say something in the last live diagnostic but, er – PJ said you weren't around.”

“Er, no,” Dan says, feeling foolish. “I get put in the archives a lot.”

“That's what PJ said,” Phil says. Dan wonders what else PJ said about him to Phil in front of the rest of the techs. “I just – it's nice to be able to talk to you. Like, it's stupid but those soundbytes really made me feel, like... _so_ much better.”

“It's not stupid,” Dan says. “I mean – I get it, like. Missing things. It must be tough.”

“It is,” Phil says, pulling a face. “But there's only forty more days and then I'm back.”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “And then you can hear birds for real.”

“Yep,” Phil says, and beams at him.

-

That night, not for the first time, Dan finds himself sitting up close to the window after dark. His hot chocolate steams up the glass a little and makes it hard to see the stars. The pale light of the moon pushes its way through the branches of his neighbour's tree, bathing everything in a strange glow.

Even if Dan did catch sight of Mars as a distant star, it's not like he'd _know_. It's not his job to know – being able to point it out on a diagram of the solar system is sufficient enough.

Even so, knowing it's out there somewhere – knowing _Phil's_ out there somewhere, probably sleeping in a scratchy, uncomfortable bunk – makes him stay huddled by the glass for a long time, squinting up at the stars.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so so late and I'm really sorry! But yay, more inaccurate space phan! (Honestly, I'm so sorry about the inaccuracies, it's laughable)
> 
> HUGE thanks to the lovely irreplaceable Eni, who is wonderful. Also the wonderful phanetixs, who writes fab fic (and is wonderful, did I mention?)

It's stupid, how that one conversation with Phil sustains Dan over the weekend.

He takes the hydro-shuttle to visit his parents on Saturday. His mum's warned him off it – she keeps seeing stuff on the holodeck about leakages and electrocutions and fatalities, but Dan's never taken those kind of reports seriously. He likes taking a corner seat in the early mornings and staring out of the window, head close enough to the glass that he can hear the soothing rush of water as well as watching it bubble and stream past.

That morning, there are some kids sitting right in front of him, peering out of the window and putting their feet on the seats. Dan had automatically turned his music all the way up when they'd sat down, giving them apprehensive looks, but it's only when there's a pause between songs that he realises they're talking about fish.

“There aren't any,” One of them says.

“There are,” Another insists, her nose pressed against the glass. “Jess said she'd seen them-”

Another one snorts and says, “Like _that_ makes it true. The other day she said-”

Dan's music starts playing again, drowning them out, but he finds himself looking out of the window, peering through the bubbles and the blueness, trying to catch a glimpse of fins and scales.

-

“Hydro-deck?” His mum says, instead of hello.

“Yep,” Dan says, giving her a hug. “It's environmentally friendly.”

“It's a death trap,” She says, disapprovingly, giving him a squeeze before she lets him go. “You look pale,” She adds, after giving him an appraising look. “Are you getting enough sleep?”

“I'm fine,” Dan says, rolling his eyes a little.

“You've got-” She reaches up to touch his hair, and he rears back in surprise. “Dan, just let me-”

“My hair's fine,” He insists, ducking out of her reach. “Mum, what's-?”

“We have visitors,” She tells him, with a worrying gleam in her eye.

Her weird enthusiasm and attempted interfering with his hair quickly begins to make sense when Dan traipses unenthusiastically into the living room after her to find that there's one of his mum's friends – Kate or Cathy or something – and her daughter, looking painfully awkward and tapping her phone against the arm of the sofa where she's sitting hunched over.

Dan knows how she feels. His heart sinks and he forces out an awkward smile – more of a grimace, really – and then has no choice but to let his mum manhandle him onto the sofa next to her.

What follows is a truly mortifying hour and a half. He makes awkward chitchat with Tina (who seems to be as unhappy about this whole situation as he is), fielded by their mums, who chip in frequently with chirpy little remarks, like market stallholders shouting about their wares.

The only way Dan gets through it is thinking about Phil. Although thinking about Phil in this situation – with his mum actively acknowledging how lonely he is romantically by shoving a single girl under his nose like this is a Jane Austen novel, or something – just makes him feel pathetic.

Not that that stops him thinking about Phil's smile and his hands during the painful lulls in the conversation.

When Tina goes out to have a smoke at around one o'clock, Dan corrals his mum while she's in the kitchen making a fresh pot of coffee.

“What?” She says, mildly, when he folds his arms in her general direction.

“I don't believe this,” He says. “I – I don't need to be _set up_ with anyone, mum-”

“I'm not setting you up with anyone!” She says, actually sounding affronted by the idea. Dan makes a derisive noise, and she adds, “I just – Tina's a lovely girl, and I know she's been having trouble finding someone too-”

“Oh my God,” Dan says. “Mum, I – not everyone just walks around _looking for someone_ , you know? I- I have work, and – and it isn't even a big deal, and – and I don't need you to look for me, ok? God, I'm -” He pauses, shaking his head. “I'm your _son_ , I'm not some part of a matched set.”

That seems like a good time to storm off – except his jacket with his flat keycard in it is back in the living room, so he only gets as far as the back doorstep, shivering a little in the cool air.

Tina looks up at him, blinking slowly like she's emerging from a dream, and Dan nearly just caves and goes back inside – anything to avoid awkward interaction with a stranger – but anger and humiliation are still burning hot in his stomach, so he sits down on one of the damp lawn chairs and stares at the ground.

Tina smokes in silence for a moment, but he thinks she might be watching him. His suspicions are confirmed when she says, “So this was just as much a surprise for you as it was for me, right?”

He nods.

“Mm,” She says. “Don't – hey, don't take it personally. It's just a mum thing. They worry.”

Dan shrugs.

“I just...”

“Wish she wouldn't?” Tina finishes for him, sympathetically. “Me too.” She pauses. “I've got a girlfriend, actually. Like – I just haven't really – dunno how to tell her.”

“Oh,” Dan says. Then, realising that might not be an adequate response, he adds, “I – one of the astronauts on the Mars program, I, er. Yeah.”

“Really?” She asks. “Mum said something about you working on a space program. That's, like – pretty cool.”

“Thanks,” Dan says, faintly, smiling a little. “I mean, it's not cool, it's like – it's like high school, but. With space.”

Tina snorts.

“I get that,” She says. “I worked in an office for a while and that was like, high school with business deals.” She exhales, stubs her cigarette out on the wall and says, “What's your astronaut called?”

“They, er,” Dan hesitates. “Phil.”

Tina raises her eyebrows at him. It's a strangely companionable moment.

“Take it you've not mentioned liking guys to your mum either,” She says.

Dan shakes his head, vehemently.

“Jesus, no,” He says, smiling uncertainly when Tina laughs. “I kind of feel like – I dunno, it's not her _business_ , you know?”

“Yeah,” Tina says, with feeling. “It's when mine starts banging on about grandchildren, y'know, like – like, me and Lucy might want kids, you know? I mean, we haven't – like, _whatever_ , but just because I'm with a girl...” She frowns, shaking her head. “But they don't see it like that.”

“I know,” Dan says. The grandchildren angle hadn't even occurred to him, and he grimaces at the thought of his mum trying to play _that_ card. “I just – with me, there isn't really anything to tell mum. Like – the Phil guy...it's not really a _thing_.”

“Oh,” Tina says, nodding. “Because he's in space.”

“Er, yeah,” Dan says, weakly.

“That's, like, super long distance,” Tina says, thoughtfully. “Mars, did you say?” Dan nods, and she whistles. “That's – how do you, like, cope with it?”

Dan shrugs. The only real answer to that is _actually he doesn't really know who I am and he's basically a stranger and his girlfriend's called Phoebe, so_.

Tina gives him a look that's somehow kind.

“Come on,” She says, kindly. “Let's go in and act like straight people.”

-

“Sorry, mum,” He says in an undertone later, as he's putting on his coat.

“Oh, love,” His mum says, and pulls him into another hug. “I just – I just _worry_ , you know?”

“I know,” Dan says, gently, pulling back. “But you honestly don't have to. I'm fine.”

He's fine, he thinks, on the shuttle ride home. He's just pathetically preoccupied with someone he's never actually _met_ , that's all.

If his mum knew that, he thinks, darkly, she'd invite a whole troop of her friends' daughters around for tea. She'd throw some kind of terrifying party. She'd stage an intervention.

Maybe it's preferable, in some small way, for her to think he has no romantic prospects at all than to know the truth.

-

On Monday morning, the observation room is almost full.

Dan tries to slip in and reach his workstation without attracting any attention, but despite his best efforts some heads turn in his direction before he manages to sink into the safety of his chair and turn his computer on.

“So,” PJ says, appearing out of nowhere to speak right near Dan's ear.

“Jesus,” Dan says, flailing a little in surprise. “Don't do that.”

PJ just perches on the edge of his desk, shifting a little and making Dan's stationery organiser full of pens rattle.

“Funny how everyone's actually here this morning,” He says, casually.

“Yeah,” Dan says, vaguely, clicking the mouse even though the screen's still loading.

“It's almost as if someone made a formal complaint to one of the commanders via email,” PJ says, lightly. “About the, er, _lax and unprofessional attitude_ around here.”

He uses air quotes and everything, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

“Mm,” Dan says. When PJ gives him a look, he wheels his chair a little closer to him so he can hiss, “Phil could've died. Honestly. The airlock could've been compromised, and I don't know anything about robots, and nobody was _here_ , and I just-”

“Hey, hey,” PJ says. “I totally agree. And so do the big bosses – everyone has to log at least six hours of monitoring time a day now. I've been told to make sure people clock in and actually stick around.”

“Oh my God,” Dan says, faintly. When he'd sent the email on Friday evening, he'd been buzzing with stupid confidence left over from actually talking to Phil – he'd included a full description of the rover situation and added five or six photos of the empty observation deck, all with visible time stamps in the top corner.

He'd started to regret it over the weekend – particularly on Sunday evening, when his fear about everyone somehow knowing he'd ratted them out washed over him and made him feel like he was fourteen again and dreading another day of school.

“Does anyone else know it was me who...?”

PJ shakes his head.

“Nope.”

Dan breathes out a small sigh of relief at that. At least lunchtime isn't gonna be the high school hell he's been envisioning.

“Thank God,” He says, with feeling. Then something occurs to him. “Wait, I didn't get you in shit with the Commander, did I?”

“No,” PJ says. “You forget, I'm a model employee.” He grins when Dan rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I'm just glad you finally _talked_ to Phil.”

Dan pretends to click around on his desktop for a moment to avoid saying anything about that.

“I stopped the rover from malfunctioning, that's all,” He says, because it's true. That's what he's been telling himself all weekend, like that's done anything to stop him from feeling somehow _airy_ when he walks, like he's been some darkened room all this time and someone finally threw open all the curtains and let the light in.

“Hmm,” PJ says, evidently unconvinced by his nonchalance. “He's nice, isn't he?”

“I,” Dan just knows he's really red in the face. “I mean, outside of the whole, you know, following protocol, doing my job thing...” He feels irritated somehow, like it's PJ's fault that he fancies a bunch of pixels on a screen. A bunch of really friendly pixels with a great smile. “Yeah, he's nice.”

“Told you,” PJ says, grinning at him.

-

Around midday, Dan realises he's made a terrible mistake.

Last week, by virtue of being one of the only techs in the lab keen on actually doing their job, he was the sole recipient of Phil's messages during the day. Now that all of the techs are actually at their desks, Dan can hardly get a look in.

“Offworld Station 35 Gamma to Ground Control,” Phil's voice rings out across the room at one point. Dan's so used to hearing Phil's communications through his headset that it startles him to hear his voice across the main speakers, playing to the whole room of disgruntled techs. “Requesting a repair code for the rover.”

“I'm on it,” Another one of the techs says. Dan thinks he's called Alex.

He studiously squashes down the stupid, irrational pang of jealousy that rises up inside him at someone else helping Phil. If he's gonna start getting all green-eyed over people doing the jobs they're paid for he really needs to _stop_.

He's just frowning at his computer screen, about to access the weekend's mission logs, when someone calls his name.

“Hey, Howell,” Dan turns to find some blond tech leaning over one of the partitions, looking at him. “I just caught up with the mission logs. Where d'you normally file all of the,” He waggles his fingers vaguely. “Like, paperwork?”

“Oh,” Dan says, surprised. “Oh, um. The updated files need to go on the archive trolley, and, um, the computer files just go in the right subfolder.” The tech frowns. “They're, er, they're all labelled, I – I can show you, if you want?”

His face clearing, the tech says, “That'd be great, cheers.”

Which is how Dan ends up organising and spellchecking someone else's mission log reports without actually getting to watch the mission logs himself.

It's only after hours, when the control room's empty and quiet again, that Dan gets a little bleeping notification of an incoming transmission from Offworld Station 35 Gamma.

His heart's in his mouth and his palms are sweating, and he nearly cancels the call out of sheer nerves, feeling unsteady and stupid.

“Hi,” He says, sounding a little croaky as Phil's face resolves itself on his computer screen.

“Oh,” Phil says, and smiles. “I didn't think you were in today, hi.”

The way he says that makes Dan falter. It's like he'd been paying attention to which techs had responded to him throughout the day. Like he was _disappointed_ when he didn't hear from Dan.

Dan's mouth is dry when he says, “Er, no. I, like. All the techs were in today.”

“As opposed to the tumbleweed city on Friday?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. Then, summoning all his courage (because nobody memorable ever talked in monosyllables and _er_ s), he adds, “Actually I – I might have sent an email to the big bosses about how you nearly died because of the rover malfunction.”

Phil makes a funny little choking noise, mid-drink of something out of a weird metal cup.

“You did _what_?” He says.

Dan laughs a little at the look on his face.

“I know,” He says. “Well, you _could've_ died. Technically. But, er. My superior technical ability saved your life. Just so you know.”

There's an excruciating fraction of a second when Dan can hear his heart pounding in his ears, almost – and then Phil grins at him.

“Oh, right,” He says. “Is that how it was?”

“Yep,” Dan says. “So I emailed that to the boss and, like – now everyone has to actually work in their cubicles for a set amount of time. So – that's why I wasn't around much today,” He finishes, lamely.

“Ah, ok,” Phil says. “So I'm 100% safer and less likely to die, but the chats with actual humans are a million times worse.”

“I,” Dan doesn't know what to say to that. “The actual humans are probably way less awkward than me, so.”

“Nothing wrong with awkward,” Phil says, warmly. “When I first came out here I didn't want to contact Ground Control. Like, ever. I thought I was disturbing everyone. So like, I felt kind of weird one day but I didn't even think to run a physical test or anything, I was just sitting around worrying about it by myself. It was only when I had my first diagnostic that Peej noticed that my air pressure levels were all messed up. I was, like, high off lack of oxygen, or something.”

“Oh my God,” Dan says. “I – I think I remember that diagnostic, actually.” He remembers a lot of panic and Phil laughing uncontrollably, insisting that he was fine, until PJ realised what was going on.

“Really?” Phil says. “Oh _God_. I thought you never went to diagnostics. I mean, PJ said-”

“I, er, the archives,” Dan says, quickly. “I'm down there a lot.”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees. “Of course you were there for the most embarrassing one, though, that's great.”

“It wasn't _that_ bad,” Dan protests.

That's the diagnostic that Dan thinks is responsible for the way Phil's smile had burrowed its way into his mind in the beginning – wide and bright and weirdly captivating. Not that he'd let himself think that – back then he'd at least pretended to be professional, not wanting some bizarre distraction to get in the way of his new job.

“I laughed for twenty minutes,” Phil reminds him.

“It was more like an hour,” Dan says, smiling when Phil laughs. “Oh my God,” He says. Then he pauses. “Hey – sorry, I guess we missed all of the introductions. I'm Phil, by the way.”

“I know,” Dan says, without thinking about it. “I – I mean, everyone knows who you are.”

“I always forget about that,” Phil says, with a self-deprecating little laugh. “But, er, would you mind if I-? I mean, I can keep calling you Tech326 if that's what you're comfortable with, but you seem really cool, and, er. I dunno.”

“I'm really not cool,” Dan says, instinctively, feeling himself flush. “But, er. I'm Dan.”

“Hi, Dan,” Phil says, and beams at him.

-

Over the next couple of weeks, Dan learns a lot about Phil.

He hates cheese (“But that doesn't mean I hate pizza,” He's quick to add, when Dan makes a noise of utter disbelief. “Pizza's totally different”). His mum still can't believe he's part of a space program (“I can't even drive a _car_ , I swear. I mean, I _can_ drive, I just – I'm no good at it. Too many things to think of at once. At least here I can contact you guys when it all gets a bit much.”) He has a brother and a flat in London and he doesn't have a pet.

He mentions that a lot, not having a pet.

“I want a dog, maybe,” He says, thoughtfully. “Or a guinea pig. Or a hamster. I used to have loads of hamsters when I was a kid.”

He doesn't mention a girlfriend. Phoebe doesn't get brought up at all. Dan's constantly on tenterhooks at first, waiting for the axe to fall – because he _has_ to mention her at some point – he has to bring up some anecdote, some story, some detail. Something has to happen to kill the stupid hope blossoming in Dan's chest.

Except nothing happens. The more they talk, the more Dan realises – painfully – that they just... _fit_ together. Talking to Phil through a stupid computer is somehow so _easy_ , in a way that nothing's ever been before.

“I _love_ the hydro-shuttle,” Phil says, one Thursday evening, after Dan mentions it being his preferred mode of travel. “I saw a fish once.”

“No you didn't,” Dan says. Phil's grinning, and Dan can't help but smile back at him. “No you didn't! There _are_ no fish in the shuttle system, that's just-”

“There are fish,” Phil says. “Maybe they're not supposed to be there, I don't know, but I saw one.”

Dan just looks at him. He's sitting there with his chin on his hand, and Dan suddenly hates the quality of the video chatting system and how far apart the two of them are.

“How old were you?”

“Like...eight. Maybe nine,” Phil says. Dan scoffs and he adds, “I saw a fish! Oh my God, I don't believe you, I'm telling the truth!”

“It literally has to be seen to be believed,” Dan says, grinning at him. “Look, I always sit by the window on the shuttle and I always look out for fish and I've never seen one, not even once.”

“Maybe you're just not looking hard enough,” Phil says. He stretches and yawns, looking so weirdly vulnerable in that moment that Dan looks away for a second. “We should ride the shuttle when I get back. Some, like, long trip. Then I'll show you the fish.”

The word _we_ sticks in Dan's throat for a moment, so there's an awkwardly long pause.

“I-I mean,” Phil says, hurriedly. “Like – that's not, like – I don't want it to be like, you take some long trip with me just because you feel like you _have_ to-”

“No, no,” Dan says, quickly. “It wouldn't be like that.” It hurts a little how much it wouldn't be like that – far from it. It'd probably be _Phil_ who felt like he had to hang out with Dan – some kind of weird obligation because Dan helped him out with the whole Mars rover thing. The thought leaves a bitter taste in Dan's mouth.

“As long as you're sure,” Phil says, softly.

“I'm sure,” Dan says, maybe a little too firmly. He feels his face growing stupidly hot, so he adds, “You're not one of those people who's all, like, _are we there yet_ barely ten seconds out of the station, are you?” When Phil looks almost bashful, Dan laughs. “You _are_ , oh my God.”

“I'm not,” Phil says, grinning. “I just – I dunno. Journeys are great. I'm way better now, when I was a kid I couldn't sit still for five seconds.”

“I can imagine,” Dan says.

“But, like,” Phil says. “The ride here? I think that shocked it out of me.”

Dan remembers monitoring Phil's journey to Mars. That had been his first day – back when Phil was just part of his job and not in every other thought, constantly lingering in the back of his head. It's weird to think of, like there are two Phil's – the astronaut Dan had monitored in those early days, and the person he's talking to now.

“I don't know how you did it,” Dan says, instead of confessing any of that. Phil tilts his head a little, questioning. “The whole – astronaut thing. Like, everyone wants to be an astronaut when they're a kid, right? And you just – _did_ it.”

“Not on purpose,” Phil says. “And only because – well, they need less qualifications for this program, like – it's kind of a risk. I'm not clever enough for _NASA_ , or anything-”

“Shut up, oh my God,” Dan says, instinctively. “You're so clever. Fuck NASA.”

When Phil laughs, Dan ends up smiling so much that his face hurts. -

Talking to Phil the way he does is great – it's more than Dan ever dreamed of.

That's without mentioning the moments when it seems like Phil might be interested in him. ( _Might_ be - Dan won't concede any further than that). There are these flashes, sometimes – snippets of conversation that _might_ be flirting. Dan doesn't know. There's never anyone around to ask in the deserted control room. Not that Dan _would_ ask – he's pretty sure using expensive communications equipment to maybe-sort of-kind of flirt with an astronaut is against the rules.

It's like one of the times that they end up discussing music. It's day 215 of the program (thirty five days until it's over, thirty five days until Phil touches back down on Earth and realises how much of a loser Dan is), and Phil had been having a dejected sort of evening, feeling homesick again. Dan had only started talking about music to take his mind off it – which had turned out to be a brilliant idea.

“They let me bring my iPod, actually,” Phil tells him, animatedly. “I had to really bargain for it, though. There's this – special little pod in the spacebound craft where you can keep a certain number of, like, valuable items. It's meant to be for stuff like plaques for dead astronauts or books, you know, so you can release some Dickens into space or whatever. It's only 'cause I, like, charmed Commander Barnes that I even got to bring it.”

“You charmed Commander Barnes,” Dan says, tone heavy with disbelief. From what he's seen, the Commander's a severe looking woman in her late forties who doesn't seem likely to be charmed by anyone.

“Yeah,” Phil says, simply, smiling that stupid smile where he sort of bites his tongue. Dan hates that smile. He's been kept awake at night by that smile – more than once. “What, you don't think I could charm someone?”

“No, no, I didn't say that,” Dan says, hurriedly, feeling flustered and awkward.

The fact is, Dan knows for a fact Phil's more than capable of being charming. It's Phil's charm that has Dan sailing into work of a morning, feeling warm, cushioned against the blows of commuting and coworkers and tiredness.

It's his charm that has Dan mentally counting down the days until he comes back to Earth, no matter how much he tries not to.

-

It's day 335 of the program when everything goes wrong.

It's an ordinary, dreary sort of Monday – Dan's spending the day with PJ, training up some new techs. It's weird, watching all of them getting to grips with the workstations and the software and remembering that it's not been all that long since _he_ was in their position.

Every now and then, PJ flashes him these smiles, like he's thinking the same thing. Either that or he's acknowledging how dreamy and absent Dan's being today.

He can't help it – he can't help but think of Phil. He feels like his brain's been submerged in warm water.

It's his smile and the way he talks about the things that he loves, countered by the number of days until the program ends (fifteen, _fifteen_ , just over two weeks) and the spectre of the mysterious Phoebe, who Phil's never mentioned.

Maybe it's his mum, Dan thinks, idly, tapping his hand against the desk.

“Dan?” PJ says. “Can you show Beth how to access the satellite programs, please?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dan says, quickly getting to his feet and going over to where PJ's standing.

Beth looks utterly terrified – and tells him that she is, so Dan patiently explains how to access the programs, reassuring her that everyone's like that when they first start, and she's gonna be ok.

Then he goes back to daydreaming.

“Excuse me,” One of the other trainees says, raising his hand, his voice cutting through Dan's stupor. “Er – Tech, er, 43-”

“PJ's fine,” PJ says, going over. “What's up?”

“I just – sorry,” The new tech says, squinting down at the keyboard. “So I press this for, like, screenshots?”

“Yeah,” PJ says.

Dan zones out for a minute, not paying attention to any of his tech jargon for a minute. He’s thinking about video chatting Phil yesterday, the way they’d discussed spending time together in real life when Phil gets back. Not that Dan’s allowing himself to think too much of it – Phil probably has a ton of friends at home, and Dan’s pretty sure anyone would seem like a fun time when you’ve been stranded alone on a different planet for more than a hundred days. Dan’s almost certain that as soon as Phil touches down again he’ll soon see that Dan’s as boring as he sometimes worries he is. Not to mention that it’s impossible to keep a constantly flattering angle in real life – the thought of Phil meeting him and being _disappointed_ makes Dan feel hot and humiliated, and it hasn’t even _happened_ yet.

“…and they receive a notification,” The trainee asks, nervously. “About, like, screenshots and stuff?”

“Yeah,” PJ says. “All of the Offworld Stations have a more advanced notifications system than us – it’s mostly so that they can monitor who’s watching them and who’s, like, saving files – it’s just for safety reasons, that’s all…”

Dan freezes, feeling his face prickle. The rest of PJ’s sentence fades as the roaring in Dan’s ears begins, because Phil _knows_. This entire time, Phil’s been receiving chirping little updates whenever Dan saved a mission log, whenever Dan took a screenshot – whenever Dan did anything that he tried to do in private, feeling stupid and ashamed and creepy – Phil’s known all along.

He spends the rest of the day in the cool safety of the deserted archives, having clocked all of his workstation hours that morning. He loses himself in dusty reports and old books, but more often than not spends the afternoon staring into space, wishing he could somehow quit and never come back.

-

That evening, Dan paces agitatedly back and forth in his flat, mulling it all over.

That's it, he thinks. Phil thinks he's a creep. He _must_ think Dan's a creep. God knows why he's been video chatting with Dan so much – pity, probably. Maybe PJ put him up to it.

That makes sense, actually. So much sense that Dan feels kind of sick. Maybe PJ thought he was helping – God knows he spent half his time before Dan and Phil started talking trying to prod Dan into having the confidence to start a conversation.

The entire scenario unfolds in Dan's mind in a matter of seconds spent staring into space. Dan helped Phil with the Mars rover malfunction, and then he was off over the weekend – but maybe PJ wasn't, maybe he was working the weekend shift, and maybe he talked to Phil about getting in contact with Dan again.

Maybe Phil went along with it because it's not like there's much else to do for entertainment when you're the only person on Mars. There are only so many spacewalks you can do before it all gets old, and Dan knows Phil just can't wait to come home now. He thinks if he was in that position he'd talk to _anyone_ , even someone he knew for sure spent half his time taking creepy screenshots and saving videos of him to his tablet.

-

The next few days are excruciating.

This cloud of ill feeling hangs heavy around Dan, seeping into everything he does until he can barely think of anything else.

He sits at his workstation and logs the required hours, and then he retreats to the archives, and then he goes home. And repeat. And repeat.

Dan knows it's stupid to avoid talking to Phil – it just adds missing him to the stupid fug of emotions he's caught in, and it's not _Phil's_ fault that Dan's pathetic.

On Thursday, he decides to stop avoiding the inevitable awkward conversation, and slips into the control room after hours. It's weird, settling down at his workstation without the usual strange excitement about talking to Phil.

Maybe he won't call, Dan thinks, a little desperately. Maybe he's been relieved these past few days, maybe talking to Dan's just an obligation, maybe--

His computer bleeps. Heart thudding painfully fast, Dan accepts the call.

“Oh, hey,” Phil says. Dan looks for long enough to catch Phil's smile, then he focuses on tidying the pens in the little stationery organiser he has on the corner of his desk. “Thank God for that, I thought you'd quit or something.”

“Nope,” He says, distantly, sneaking a look at the screen quick enough to see Phil's smile fading. “I, er. I've been busy, that's all.”

“Right,” Phil says. “Well. How are you? Like – it's not like, brain melting busy, is it? You're ok?”

He sounds so concerned that Dan closes his eyes for a second.

“I'm fine,” He says, blankly, opening his eyes and actually looking at the screen. Phil's frowning. “Actually, I – I should probably – I said I'd go to my mum's tonight, so d'you mind if we leave this?”

“Er,” Phil says, faintly. “Yeah, sure? Dan, are you sure you-?”

Dan ends the call before Phil can even finish speaking, and buries his head in his hands for a moment, pressing down on his eyes hard enough that stars blossom behind his eyelids.

-

The next morning, a hand slams down a file onto Dan's desk so suddenly that Dan all but jumps out of his skin.

“Jesus,” He breathes, staring at PJ. “You just scared the shit out of me.”

“You're an idiot,” PJ says, and walks away.

Dan sits for a moment, considering what just happened, and then rushes after him.

“What?” He says, quickly catching up as PJ stops at his own workstation, rifling through a pile of papers. “Peej? What's up?”

PJ keeps up the pretence of looking for something for an excruciatingly long minute before he looks Dan in the eye.

“I've been messaging Phil,” He says, gesturing at his currently-blank computer screen. “He's worried. Hasn't slept properly. Thinks he's done something wrong. Is this ringing any bells?”

“I,” Dan says, feeling sick to his stomach. “We might've. I. I didn't want to talk to him yesterday.”

PJ looks at him for a moment.

“That's fine,” He says, a little softer. “Like – not wanting to talk to someone is fine, but – by the sounds of it that's not all that was going on. What's up?”

Dan sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“It was. I.” PJ's the last person he wants to tell about this, but who else can he tell? His mum, who already thinks he's romantically hopeless? Phil himself? “I found out that Phil gets a notification every time someone saves a video of his. Or, er, screenshots.”

“Oh,” PJ says. “Right.”

“And,” Dan's face is boiling hot. “I. So he knows how much of a fucking creeper I am, basically. And, er.” Now that he's actually talking to PJ, his theory about him convincing Phil to talk to Dan seems stupid. “Other stuff.”

PJ doesn't say anything for a moment.

“He doesn't think you're creepy,” He says, after breathing out a sigh. “Jesus, Dan.”

“What, you're telling me you wouldn't think it was?” Dan says, his voice sounding thin and strained. “Like – someone obsessively watching all of your mission logs and all of that? You wouldn't think that was weird?”

“I, no,” PJ says. “No. 'Cause, like, a, that's your job as a tech, and b...” He falters. “Look, Phil doesn't think you're creepy. He thinks he's done something wrong because you freaked out at him and didn't talk to him for days.”

“He hasn't done anything wrong,” Dan says, guilt flooding through him. “I – oh _God_.”

PJ gives him a sympathetic look, and then holds out his keycard.

“What's-?”

“I've got clearance to access the solo control room,” He explains. “It's empty. So – you should go and call Phil.” When Dan doesn't take the card, PJ forces it into his hand and adds, “Honestly, if he sends me another message asking me to make sure you're ok I'm gonna resign.”

-

The moment before he clicks to call Phil, ten minutes later, is sort of like what Dan thinks the seconds before a bungee jump might feel like – that uncertain moment before total freefall.

Phil doesn't answer immediately. Dan doesn't blame him. When his face finally appears on the screen, Dan starts speaking before Phil can even say hi.

“I'm sorry,” He says quickly. “You didn't do anything wrong, I – I freaked out. Sorry.”

“Right,” Phil says, on an exhale. “Can you-? What did you freak out about? Not, like...not _me_?”

He sounds so tentative and uncertain that Dan feels like the worst person in the world.

“No,” Dan says. “No, not – not you, I.” The only way to get this out of the way – to soften the crease of Phil's worried frown – is just to explain himself. He wipes his damp palms on his leg and adds, “I found out you get a notification every time I, like, screenshot or save a video. And I panicked and didn't understand why you carried on talking to me if you knew how fucking creepy I am. And – and that's it. Except – I never meant it to be creepy. That's – _that's_ it.”

“Dan,” Phil says, quietly. “That's – that's what this whole thing was about?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, feeling stupid. He feels even stupider when Phil smiles.

“I don't think you're creepy,” He says. “God, not at all. Like – I mean, the notifications, they...I noticed you. Like, months ago.” Dan groans and covers his face, but Phil keeps talking. “No, no, I mean – I was just curious, that's all! I thought maybe it was just, like, a diligent tech, you know? But then, um. I asked PJ and he...he didn't...he made this _face_.”

“Oh God,” Dan says, through his fingers. He can practically _see_ the face in his head.

“Yeah,” Phil says. “So then I. I thought maybe you might, like. _Like_ me.” There's a pause, in which Dan drops his hands from his face, staring down at the desk. “It- it's ok if you don't. I mean, that was just, like, a pretty big leap, I just-”

“No, I do,” Dan says, very quietly. Clearing his throat, he looks at the screen. “I do like you.”

Dan isn't sure because the camera quality isn't HD or anything, but he thinks Phil goes pink.

“That's,” Phil coughs. “That's good. Er. I mean. Same. Like. Me too. Sorry, I didn't – I had this whole plan to do this in person, you know, not – not via satellite, or whatever-”

“That's ok,” Dan says. He thinks he might be seconds away from hysterical laughter. “I, er,” He laughs, a little, and Phil smiles. “For real? You really, like...? Even after the weird screenshots?”

“ _Weird_ screenshots? You never said they were _weird_. If they're unflattering you're gonna have to delete them, like, straight away.”

“They're not,” Dan says, grinning.

“Good,” Phil says. “And – and yeah, for real. I think – as soon as I first talked to you, I was like, _yeah_. Like – like something clicking into place, you know?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “Yeah, I.” He laughs. “God, Phil.”

Phil grins at him.

“I take it this means you wouldn't mind going on a date with me in, like, twelve days?”

“Eleven days,” Dan says, automatically. “Er. God, yeah. I mean, I'll have to clear my calendar first.”

“Of course.” “Like – I'm very busy, you know?”

“I know.”

“But, er, yeah,” Dan says. “I think I could fit you in.”

“Great,” Phil says, smiling this wonderfully soft smile at him.

-

Dan watches Phil's descent to Earth live from the control room, hands clenched tightly into fists in his lap.

“It'll be ok,” Phil had said, the night before. They hadn't been able to talk for long – too much procedure and protocol to go through about his return journey with the Commander – but Phil had spent most of the time reassuring Dan. It's only now, watching the tiny (breakable, fragile-looking) pod re-entering the earth's atmosphere that Dan feels sick.

He wishes he'd said something comforting to Phil, something memorable and kind beyond blind panic.

“That's where all of our money goes, you know,” PJ tells Dan, conversationally. “Like, it's meant to take upwards of 100 days to travel to and from Mars, but we got the best possible propulsion system.”

“And really shitty gloves,” Dan says, feeling like he might throw up.

“Yeah,” PJ says. He touches Dan's shoulder – Dan can't look away from the observation screen. “Hey, hey, it's ok. He'll be ok. We spent good money on that thing, and he knows what he's doing-”

“I know,” Dan says, his voice sounding more than a little frantic. “I know.”

“ETA an hour, max,” One of the techs calls from across the room.

“Ok,” PJ says, sweeping away from Dan's workstation for a second. “Can someone get me a planned trajectory and an estimated touchdown location? Dan?”

“I'm on it,” Dan says, already typing.

“Can't we use the magnetic wave system to draw the pod in to land?” Someone suggests.

“Er, no,” PJ says. “Because we sold the magnetic wave system to buy a hundred more days on the program.”

“Fuck,” Dan says, under his breath, still typing. Fuck this stupid space program, seriously. Fuck this program and their substandard gloves and their propulsion systems and their stupid techs and their-

The computer bleeps. Dan's heart leaps, but there's no way it can be Phil – he can't communicate while the return pod's in transit. It's just a notification about the estimated touchdown location.

“Er, estimated touchdown location is about a mile out. Fields? You're gonna have to send someone out to apologize for the scorch marks.”

“It's ok, we've got enough left in the budget to pay for a new field if we have to,” PJ says. “I think.” He strides over to Dan's workstation and ducks down to talk in his ear. “I've assigned you to go along with the pod recovery team.”

Dan stares at him.

“What?” He says. “But – but I'm not a high enough rank.”

PJ shrugs. “I pulled a few strings,” He says, grinning at the look on Dan's face. “They're setting off in about fifteen minutes to clear the area. Just in case.”

“I,” Dan has no idea what to say.

“Go and get him,” PJ says, pushing his shoulder.

“I can't believe you just said that,” Dan says, and laughs at the look on PJ's face, like _he_ can't believe he said it either. “I owe you so – so much, oh my God.”

“Yeah, you do,” PJ says. “I'll settle for your firstborn child. If you and Phil decide to have kids, I mean-”

“Oh my God,” Dan says, mortified. “I – oh my _God_ , I hate you.”

PJ just laughs.

-

Part of Dan expects the pod to smash into the ground. He expects a crater, maybe some flames – _something_.

“You've been watching too many retro space movies,” PJ tells him when he radios in to voice his concerns. “It'll be a neat landing. Stop freaking out.”

He turns out to be right. The pod's fast, that part fits Dan's expectations, but when it comes to the landing it just sort of...lands. One second it's in the air and the next it's on the ground. As simple as that.

“Is it always that anti-climactic?” Dan asks. He's been relegated to the edge of the field with one of the superior techs, who's actually wearing _body armour_. “The landing, I mean.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” The tech tells him.

“And you're sure I can't go over there,” Dan says. There's a whole squad of black-clad techs swarming the landed pod, and Dan aches to be over there with them. He can't believe Phil's so _close_ and Dan _still_ can't go over to him.

“I'm sure,” The tech says. “Tech432's clearance only goes so far, you know.”

“I know,” Dan says. He's so jittery. He thinks his hands are shaking and he can't stand still, hopping up and down on the balls of his feet. No wonder he's not allowed over to the pod. “I – I could run over there and you could pretend you tried to stop me?”

The withering look he gets in response tells him all he needs to know about that plan.

“Ok,” Dan says. He's about to carry on with his nervous chatter when the techs get the pod's door open and his tongue suddenly feels four times too big for his mouth. “Oh God. Oh _God_.”

The tech looks at him and says, “I could always pretend you kicked me. Like, pretty hard.”

Dan stares at him in disbelief for a second.

“Really?”

The tech just waves his hand at him, which is enough clearance as Dan needed to take off at a run across the field. He hates running more than anything, Jesus, but he can see Phil now, awkwardly clambering out of the pod, black hair and weird white spacesuit.

Dan can barely hear anything over the whoosh of his own breath when he comes to a sudden halt. Phil's making conversation with the techs about the descent while they rush around taking pictures. One of them's examining him – he's facing the pod, but Dan's breathing so loudly that he has to notice him any second, he has to-

“I thought you didn't have clearance to access the landing site?” The tech examining Phil says, giving him a disapproving look.

That's when Phil turns around. He's shorter than Dan, but only by a little bit, and – and his white spacesuit makes his pale skin look strange, and his eyes are so blue, and he's a _real person_.

“Hi,” Dan says, faintly, his heart beating so hard it hurts. When Phil doesn't say anything beyond blank staring, he adds, “Er. It's nice to meet you.”

“Oh my God,” Phil breathes, and shakes off the tech examining him to take the three steps over to Dan and throw his arms around him. “You total _nerd_ , oh my God, it's so good to see you.”

Dan just grins into the stupid scratchy fabric of Phil's spacesuit, and grips onto him so tightly he feels like he might never let go.

-

_Three months later_

Dan's listening to Phil. He really is.

Well, maybe. It's a rainy Sunday afternoon, and they've spent it curled around each other in Dan's rickety old bed, too lazy to get up except to make coffee and toast before retreating back under the blankets.

Phil's talking animatedly about something, and Dan can't take his eyes off the movement of his hands and the way he smiles while he talks. The extra blanket he had pulled up over him is slipping down his shoulder, and it turns out his collarbones are really distracting.

“...I mean, it's like when I had all those hamsters when I was a kid, like, Phoebe, she-”

“Sorry,” Dan says, tuning back in with a start. “Phoebe, did you say? Wasn't that your Mars rover password?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, smiling at him. “She was one of my first hamsters.” When Dan doesn't say anything, he adds, “Yeah, laugh it up, my rover password was my old hamster's name, I know.”

Dan shuffles in close to him, feeling his face split into a grin.

“Your hamster,” He says, laughter bubbling up in his throat. “Phoebe – that was your pet hamster?”

“When I was a kid, yeah,” Phil says, evidently bemused when Dan starts laughing. “Oh my God, it's not _that_ funny.”

“Your _hamster_. Oh my God, just – just come here.”

Dan kisses him, because he honestly can't think of anything else he'd rather do in that moment.

When he ends up breaking off to laugh some more, Phil joins in, chuckling under his breath.

“Are you gonna tell me why that's so funny?” He murmurs.

“Maybe later,” Dan says, and kisses him again.


End file.
